Charles Finch's expression shifted, but he maintained his composure. "Mr. Abbott, I understand you're upset. However, this was Mr. Dickerson's own decision. If you have doubts, I suggest you contact the police or pursue legal channels. Violence won't solve anything."
I released him and immediately dialed 911.
When Officer Grant arrived, he had the video analyzed. The verdict: original footage, no splicing, no AI manipulation.
Furthermore, the investigation confirmed that Charles Finch and Russ Finch shared no familial connection whatsoever. They'd never even crossed paths before today—this was their first meeting.
My mind went blank.
Where did everything go wrong?
Uncle Harvey had drafted his will just one month before his death. Why would he suddenly change his mind?
Officer Grant studied my crestfallen face, his tone hovering somewhere between lecture and mockery:
"Kid, maybe look in the mirror for answers. You probably weren't a good nephew. Hell, forget an uncle—even your own father has every right to leave his estate to whoever he wants if you've disappointed him."
Something cracked open in my skull.
Father?